


Depravity Itself

by firecat



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: BBW, Community: seasonofkink, F/M, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Long Hair, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Orgasm, PoC, Rules, Sandwich, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecat/pseuds/firecat
Summary: Lucifer likes kissing. Lucifer likes his nightclub guests to leave satisfied. Rules are fun to play with, and sometimes to break.
Relationships: Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)/Original Character(s), Mazikeen/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27
Collections: Season of Kink





	Depravity Itself

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, Lucifer doesn’t flirt or sleep with only conventionally pretty young things. Since when are pretty young things the people who need the Devil the most?
> 
> Submitted to Season of Kink collection for prompt: body fetish

Lucifer’s kisses are depravity itself. He loves to bring someone to an orgasm in the midst of his crowded nightclub, just by kissing them. Eventually he and Maze made up a game, and he wins one point for each person he pleasures in this way, as long as he plays by the rules.

(Someday they’ll figure out what he can use the points for. He's collected quite a few.)

Something must be bothering him tonight, because he’s playing the game in earnest. It’s one of the ways he tries to take his mind off things. 

He’s playing by strict rules tonight. No hands. No grinding. No thigh humping. Just his mouth and tongue and filthy imagination. And his sultry voice, which some have described as "Noel Coward and Mick Jagger's love child."

He usually keeps the cocktail table between himself and the person he’s chosen, because of the no-grinding rule. He’s at one of those tables now. Leaning over the table, his arms braced against it. Her name, she told him in their brief conversation, is Miranda. 

“What do you truly desire?”

“That jerk dumped me. He called me fat and not as a compliment. I want to be desired by someone completely different from him.”

She’s lush and full in a way that’s not in fashion in twenty-first century L.A., for all that it was the rage a century and a half ago. Pear-shaped, brown-skinned, the tops and sides of her breasts spilling out of her corset, ass wide and round. Her long black hair falls to her waist. He would probably love to have his hands in it, but rules are rules. He can brush his cheek against her hair as he whispers in her ear, he can feel it against his mouth as he kisses her neck. And then his mouth is moving against hers, inviting, irresistible. Before long she begins to clench her fists and wriggle against the bar stool, trying to get some friction where she needs it. Now he’s whispering something again. Maybe about wanting to see and touch a hidden, or half-hidden, part of her body. 

“How I would like to unhook your corset, right here and now, so everyone can see how gorgeous and bountiful your body is.”

He breaks off the kiss, purring a promise to return. He likes to set someone to a slow simmer, then come back once the flavors have fully blended, to bring them to the apex at last.

* * *

How does he decide whom to play with? Let’s just say he doesn’t always have to ask out loud to know what a person most desires. Sometimes their expression and body language say enough as he walks past. 

He is especially fond of approaching people who are at the tables in hidden corners. People who are less comfortable at the club, for whatever reason. They intrigue him. And he does care so much that his guests have a good time. That they leave _satisfied,_ in one way or another. 

A short and wiry person sits at one of these hidden tables. They’re maybe in their 30s, with freckles dusting their face. Upon introduction, they told him their name was Rowan.

“I’m out as the gender I truly am for the first time. I’m terrified and I crave to be seen.” 

They’re wearing a purple check three piece suit (with contrasting pocket square), a bow tie and a dress shirt. 

Lucifer likes. “The way you look in that suit _does_ things to me, my dear. Freaky things you don’t take home to mother, isn’t that how the song goes? May I kiss you?”

After the second time he dropped by their table, their bow tie was draped around their neck and their dress shirt unbuttoned halfway, maybe at his whispered suggestion.

“Do you have those sexy freckles _everywhere?_ I would love you to undo a few buttons so I can see for myself. Mmm!”

Now he’s circled back around to them for the third time. He walks up behind them, which is risky under the strict rules. The urge to pull them against his body, let them feel the length and girth of his desire for them, must be very strong. 

They startle a little and their eyes widen as they sense his presence. Lucifer rubs his bearded cheek over their scalp with its fuzzy, 1/4-inch buzzcut. The way they gasp when he does it tells him something. 

He moves to face them, leans over the table, nibbles and lightly bites their lips, then decides it’s time, and slips his tongue in their mouth for a long, hot kiss. Until their face flushes and they go rigid and shuddery, squeezing their eyes shut. Lucifer kisses them through their climax, then gazes softly into their eyes with awe and appreciation, not to mention a hint of triumph. He steps around the table and gathers them in his arms, whispering in their ear, probably words of praise and invitation. 

“Such a gift you gave me. Your lips trembling on mine when you came.”

It’s not cheating to hold them afterward (still no grinding though). Neither is one of Lucifer’s personal cards slipped into a pocket or a bra. He cultivates a reputation for preferring emotionless, if long and physically taxing, one-night stands. But some invitations he’s more private about. 

“I hope I get to see you again. A lot more of you, in fact. Hush, no spoilers, please. Whatever anatomy you have, any part of your body you want me to touch will get as much of my attention as you desire.”

* * *

Playing a no-hands game with the third person he’s approached tonight might seem like more of a challenge. He’s of a height with Lucifer and broader, with long blond hair and muscular arms threaten the integrity of his shirt. He’s wearing a leather vest and chaps with tight jeans underneath, and everything about him screams “top who takes what he wants.” 

Lucifer usually doesn’t win the game with people like him, but losing has its charms too. He’s quite fond of being seized and crushed against a strong body, his mouth ravaged. 

But this Thor’s appearance hides a secret, which Lucifer has teased out. 

“I always end up playing a dom, but I long to sub.”

Which is why he’s kneeling at Lucifer’s feet, hands behind his back, his face turned up toward the Devil’s in appeal and need. Lucifer’s breath stirs the golden hair framing his face, and he’s probably murmuring a command.

“You may worship me with your mouth. You may touch only my head and neck.”

The Viking warrior kisses his face and neck everywhere he can reach. Finally he shuffles closer on his knees and simply presses his lips to Lucifer’s cheek. Both are stock still for moments, pulses racing, the still point around which the activity of the club whirls. 

Lucifer slowly moves his head until their mouths meet. He’s discovered another desire and is probably whispering about it into his mouth. 

“You want me to hurt you a little, don’t you?”

The Icelander responds as if thunderstruck, and then Lucifer...has broken the rules, because he’s holding the man’s head with both hands as he kisses him, slowly, biting his lips hard enough to sting. 

A forfeit is sometimes what the situation demands. Because the game has its rules, but sometimes there are more important things than rules. 

A few minutes later, Lucifer helps the blond god up from the floor. They both retire upstairs to Lucifer’s penthouse and return shortly thereafter wearing different trousers.

* * *

The night is still young and Lucifer visits his raven-haired goddess again. She’s got people with her now on her post-breakup bar crawl, but he’s going to make sure this is their final stop. 

Lucifer is determined not to break the rules this time but he’s found a loophole to exploit. That’s why he’s using only his mouth to please her, but rolling his hips to tantalize her short and slender friend, who is trapped between them like the sandwich filling between two slices of bread. The expression on her face as she rubs against Miranda, transferring his every hip wriggle to her, makes him think the two of them will be more than friends before the night is done. 

“You see?” Miranda’s friend says. “People do want you, honey. Fuck the jerk who dumped you. Fuck him straight into the ground.”

Miranda’s mouth is occupied so her only reply is a moan.

“You’re glowing, girl. Did he kiss you that good? You look like you just cum or something.” 

Lucifer and Miranda exchange a sly smile and keep their secret, and he moves on. 

Two points out of three attempts, and he’s sure Maze will insist on closing the “sandwich” loophole next time he plays, but plenty of wins so far.

**Author's Note:**

> Tom Ellis saying that Lucifer's voice is like "Noel Coward and Mick Jagger's love child":  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dPGNe8shN2o>
> 
> Lucifer quotes lyrics from "Super Freak" by Rick James. Go watch it and imagine it being played at Lux.  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYHxGBH6o4M>


End file.
